


The Dreadful Sin of Love

by Winterlyn_Dow



Series: The City that Care Forgot [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bilinqual profanity, F/M, Fencing, Jaqen POV, Modern Assassins, New Orleans, Spies & Secret Agents, another smoking relapse, mentions of guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterlyn_Dow/pseuds/Winterlyn_Dow
Summary: German spy Jaqen H'ghar has led a dark life but for the last several years, there has been one bright spot in it. When a Scottish assassin arrives in New Orleans and threatens the light upon which Jaqen depends, how far will he go to protect it? Do Jaqen's loyalties lie with love or duty?
Relationships: Jaqen H'ghar/Arya Stark
Series: The City that Care Forgot [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/258829
Comments: 30
Kudos: 130





	The Dreadful Sin of Love

_It's strange what desire will make foolish people do…_

* * *

"Arya? Are you here, lovely girl?"

Jaqen had parked on the street just in front of his gate to unload the groceries he'd bought. He didn't have a lot, three bags, not heavy; just enough to make her blackened redfish, a spicy dish he'd come to enjoy since moving here, along with corn maque choux as was traditional, and sauteed asparagus, since he believed something green was needed to balance the plate.

_In another life, he might've been a chef._

It wouldn't have been that much further to drive past his gate and turn into his driveway, and it wouldn't have been that much further to walk from his car to his front door if he parked where he usually parked, so he needn't have parked on the street at all. But something had hit him as he drove back from the market.

A memory.

The first day he'd ever seen her.

He was moving in and had parked in front of his gate to unload the boxes he'd packed in his trunk. She'd been on her front lawn, playing in the water with her brother as that friend of theirs, the Baratheon boy, looked on. It had been a hot, sticky day, as nearly every day of summer here was, and the Stark siblings were seeking relief from the heat and humidity by spraying each other with a garden hose.

_The harsh, August sunbeams glaring down on them had been shattered by the arcing water, broken into shards of blazing glitter and tiny, blinking rainbows overhead. Arya had moved beneath them, among them, as naturally as the breeze which carried their laughter to his ear._

_As naturally as though she, too, were made of sunlight._

_Later, she'd come to him, to his door, to deliver some pastry from her mother. A 'welcome' gift from hospitable neighbors. Arya was young then, so young. Far too young. But it had never been about that for him. It had never been about attraction, or, at least, not that sort of attraction; not the carnal sort. It wasn't romance, or passion, or lust that drew him to her. How could it be? She was little more than a child then. Those things didn't enter his mind until later. Much, much later. No, it wasn't sex. It was that light. The light within her. The light she absorbed and then emanated so unconsciously._

_Like the sun._

_And like the sun, she was nearly impossible to look upon. Blinding. In the beginning, anyway. It had almost hurt him to look at her. But later, he found he could tolerate it very well, that light; came to crave it, even. To desire it and to seek it out._

_To need it, like air._

And he'd been thinking of that as he drove home from the market, thinking of the girl who seemed to draw the light to her, and to absorb it; the girl who seemed always to be nearly bursting with brilliance; the girl who gave the light back to him ten-fold, never seeking anything in return. He'd thought of that, how'd he'd seen it immediately on that very first day, and he'd parked in that same spot and opened that same trunk, taking out the sacks of things he'd just bought at Rouses for the dinner he planned to make her, lost to his memories.

_If he hadn't succumbed to the whim, if he'd parked in his driveway as usual, then he'd have known Galen was there, waiting for him. And, because he'd told her to come over as soon as she was ready, and he'd given her a key so she might do just that, he'd have known it was possible Arya was there, too. With Galen. Alone. And he would have sprinted across his lawn, up his steps, and burst through his door. Instead, in his ignorance, he moved through his gate at a leisurely pace, never glimpsing that silver Jaguar parked alongside his house like an ostentatious calling card._

The door wasn't locked. He had smiled to see it, fool that he was. He'd smiled, knowing it meant Arya was there, waiting for him. Despite his delight at that fact, however, he'd resolved to speak to her about locking the door behind her when she was alone. He wasn't concerned for his things. Most of them weren't strictly _his_ anyway, except the books. But thieves were unlikely to bother with books, and even if they did, Jaqen was not so attached to them that he would be more than mildly annoyed at their theft. But he could not allow her to risk her own safety in this way. Here, amid the large houses and stately live oaks of the Garden District, it was easy to see New Orleans as a place of refinement and beauty and gentility, but its grandeur did nothing to diminish its dangers. New Orleans was supremely beautiful, yes, but it was also a city of incredible violence, and no amount of old-world charm erased that fact.

Jaqen had walked in and called out to her.

_Arya? Are you here, lovely girl?_

He dropped his keys on the table in his foyer and was about to walk the groceries into the kitchen when he heard her voice coming from the library.

"In here!" she called brightly. _Too brightly_. There was an edge to her voice that sent a familiar and unpleasant electricity skittering across his skin. "I… haven't found the sugar for my mom, yet, but…"

He dropped the groceries even as the words were leaving her mouth. The pitch of her voice, her cadence, was… off.

_Something was wrong._

He knew it as surely as he knew he'd do anything to set it to rights; to protect her from whatever it was that had her unnerved and to return her pitch, her cadence, to normal.

"The sugar?" The question was automatic, simply following the patterns of logic. His mouth was moving as he was moving, part of his mind splitting off to speak to her without any need to decide what he should say. The other part, the larger part, tracked her voice, picturing the route to her, envisioning where the nearest gun was hidden in the library.

_A Sig Sauer 9mm semi-automatic pistol, strapped to the underside of the end table next to the sofa. Two long strides from the arched entryway. Less than two seconds. The suppressor was already attached, the safety off, a hollow-point bullet chambered, but the firearm itself still had to be retrieved and aimed. Another two seconds._

His throat, his tongue, his lips continued to form words as he moved. Inconsequential conversation about _sugar._ "What are you…"

Then he was in the room, and he saw her. And he saw _him._

_Saw him touching her._

_"Galen,"_ Jaqen seethed. The word, the name, was growled in reaction; with pure, raw emotion. But that wouldn't do. Not with this man. Galen Abernathy couldn't know what Arya was to him; couldn't know what he felt; couldn't know _that_ he felt.

_And there she was, her slender arm in Galen's grip, and she was bursting with her brilliance, drawing all the light in the room to herself._

_He blinked against the exquisite ache of it._

"Why are you restraining my neighbor?" Jaqen asked with a calm he did not feel. That part of his brain was still engaged; the part that could glean and retain information, then use it to form cogent speech. _She'd mentioned sugar. She must've made some excuse to the assassin to explain her presence in the house. His house. He fought to keep his lip from curling in irritation at the thought she'd been forced to create some lie to justify herself._

All of this, the observation, the interpretation, the extrapolation, the _fucking boiling fury,_ all formed and settled in his brain within milliseconds. Assessing threats; thinking on his feet; adapting quickly and convincingly; improvisation. This was what he was good at.

_Well, one of the things he was good at. He was also an excellent shot._

_He refused to allow his gaze to drift toward the end table. That would be… an overreaction._

"Let the girl get her sugar."

Galen's eyes sparked with amusement. _Goddamn him._

Jaqen's fingers twitched.

"Restraining? Hardly." He had the temerity to laugh but released Arya's arm. And she would've been right to bolt. To flee the place and never look back. To run for her life.

Instead, she seemed frozen where she stood.

_He needed her to flee. He needed her safe._

Jaqen said her name to draw her attention. "Arya." He pinned her with his gaze and when he knew she was with him, he stared hard at her. He willed her to understand and not question him. "The sugar."

She acknowledged him. "Oh. Yes." She was nodding and giggling a bit, anxious. Her voice held the slightest tremor. He wasn't sure if Galen could hear it, but he could. And it wasn't her.

_That angered him more than he could say._

She still wasn't moving, though. He prompted her, his voice cold. Hard.

"In the pantry. Just take the bag."

The girl scurried past the Scottish assassin as she murmured something about her mother being grateful. When she'd made it to the kitchen, Jaqen moved swiftly, drawing close to Galen so they could speak without being overhead.

"She's really quite charming, brother. A sweet little thing," the Scot commented in a low voice before taking a sip from the glass he held in one hand. After he swallowed, he added, "A bit young, though."

"This is my home, Galen," Jaqen hissed. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I think the better question is what the fuck are _you_ doing here?" The handsome man gave the German a pointed look.

"I'm carrying out my mission," Jaqen sneered, "and I don't need a chaperone for that."

"I was briefed on your mission and I don't recall Erich saying a thing about seducing the target's underaged daughter."

_The fucker was baiting him. Jaqen knew he was, but still, he felt compelled to respond._

"Arya Stark is not underaged, and I am not seducing her," he scoffed. "Besides that, Robert Baratheon is now the primary target, not her father."

"Yes, that's true," Galen admitted. "And you were meant to get to him through his son, using that _'lovely girl'._ "

Jaqen straightened. "She arrived home not even forty-eight hours ago, and the Conclave had me tending to other matters since yesterday evening, as you well know. Was I meant to run the girl while covering for you last night and earlier today?"

"So that's what all this is?" The Scottish assassin smirked, nodding slightly in the direction of the kitchen. They could hear Arya rifling through the pantry. "This is you, running her?"

"This is her getting sugar for her mother, and this is you making a simple favor into some sort of frightening intrigue I'll now have to explain away, lest she become suspicious."

"Sugar. Yes." The handsome man's skepticism was plainly displayed in the curl of his mouth.

Jaqen heard Arya moving down the central corridor toward the door. _Good. She'd soon be gone, safely tucked away in the Stark family home. He could figure out what to tell her later. For now, he just needed her gone from here. Away from Galen._

A second later, she ducked her head back into the library, drawing the Scot's scrutiny. When she began to speak, the German closed his eyes as though the sound of her voice pained him.

"I've got it!" She lifted the bag of sugar as if to prove the veracity of her claim. "I'm just heading out now."

Jaqen opened his eyes and watched Galen's expression at her words.

_Oh, lovely girl…_

It was as if everything she did was somehow calculated to ensnare the Scot, claiming his attention, piquing his interest. And the last thing in the world Jaqen would ever want was Galen Abernathy _interested_ in Arya Stark. He needed her to go so he could attempt to undo the damage; to distract Galen and set his curiosity elsewhere.

"Yes, goodbye." The words were as clipped and dismissive as the German could make them. He did not think he could compel the girl through the front door any more urgently without saying, _'Run, Arya!'_ Jaqen's gaze was fastened to Galen's face as he spoke, assessing his colleague's reaction.

The Scot's eyes glittered with mischief and he leaned to his left slightly, looking around Jaqen and finding the girl's eyes.

"It was lovely to meet you, Arya Stark. I hope to see you again soon."

Jaqen ground his molars together.

She gave some flippant reply, of course. Something about him not frightening her nearly to death next time. This made his jaw clench tighter.

_That she should have been made to feel threatened in his home…_

"Your wits seem remarkably recovered," Galen noted, not even a hint of apology in his tone.

_Bastard._

Jaqen's patience was at its end. "Galen, the girl's mother is waiting for her. Leave her be." If the Scot heard the warning in the way his colleague spoke the words, he ignored it. In fact, he behaved as though they were schoolboys and Jaqen had simply issued him a dare, one he was only too delighted to perform. Galen looked him in the eye and then grinned wickedly.

Moving his gaze to Arya, the handsome assassin suggested she have her mother leave aside a cupcake for him.

_A cupcake._

_That must've been how she justified her need for the sugar,_ Jaqen realized. He was so involved in processing that information and scrutinizing Galen's body language that he nearly missed what the infuriating man said next.

"…I rather enjoy a _sweet thing_ every now and again."

His meaning was quite clear.

_And he might very well murder the Scot for it._

From behind him, Jaqen could tell Arya hesitated, then he heard her say, "No. I don't think I will."

Galen's reaction to her rebuff was a mix of surprise and amusement. _Fascination._ He chuckled heartily, watching the girl retreat. When she was gone, he smirked at the German.

"Enchanting, truly. I can see the appeal."

Jaqen ignored him, his expression and tone flat as he moved past the interloper to pour himself a drink. After he'd had a long swallow, he turned to the Scot.

"Why are you here, Galen?"

"Funny. That's exactly what she asked me."

Jaqen glared at him. "And what did you tell her?"

"The truth, of course." Galen tipped his glass toward his unwilling host, as though offering a small toast. "That I was waiting for my colleague."

The German filed the information away, knowing he might need it to formulate an explanation for the girl. And Galen was right. Technically, it was true. They were colleagues, at least in the sense that they worked for the same entity, and for a common purpose. At one time, they could've even been accurately described as partners.

But no longer.

_That had ended a few years ago in Hong Kong, severed by a selfish choice and the thrust of a sharp knife that had left him bleeding and then scarred._

Jaqen breathed harshly in and out through his nose once before speaking. "So now tell _me_ the truth. Why are you here, _colleague?_ "

Galen's eyes narrowed. "The Colonel is… concerned. I'm simply here to assuage those concerns."

_Scheiße!_

The German knew he had never given Erich any real cause for doubt, not in all the time they'd known each other. But men like Erich Weber did not trust easily. Jaqen supposed his vehement objection to the plan to use Arya as a means for healing the rift between Robert and his estranged son had bought him the trouble of this visit from Galen.

The trouble of this visit, and very likely more.

"You may tell Erich I have everything under control here. I do not require your assistance."

The Scot smiled, sipping his drink and walking away from Jaqen. He rounded the sofa and came to stand at the desk, staring through the picture window that looked out onto the Stark home.

"How do you find it here?"

The sudden shift in the discussion had Jaqen instantly suspicious. "I find it much the same as everywhere else."

_Lügner._

"Really?" Galen turned, eyebrows raised. "I shouldn't have thought so."

It was Jaqen's turn to lift his eyebrows. "And why is that?"

"Because, brother, you said this was your _home._ "

The German shrugged. "I have been here a long while now. I suppose there is an ease to that."

The Scot chuckled. "Indeed." He walked to a chair near the sofa and sat as though he'd been invited. Jaqen moved to join him, sitting catty corner on the sofa.

_Where she'd fallen asleep with her head in his lap a mere thirty-six hours ago._

He reclined into the plush cushions, fingers curling around his glass of bourbon as he pictured how her eyes had drifted closed while they'd talked before the sun rose. "You may go home, Galen, to your overpriced flat in London. Go home and tell Erich that I have matters well in hand."

The Scot hummed before finishing his own liquor and setting the tumbler delicately on the decorative table at his elbow. "I have a mind to stay."

Jaqen's jaw tightened. "There is nothing here for you to do."

"No? Then perhaps I'll explore the city that has so captivated you."

The German scoffed. "It is no different than any other city."

_Lügner._

"Oh? Well, if it's not the city, then what is it?"

Jaqen masked his irritation with a swallow of liquor. "What is what?"

"What is the reason you're always in such a hurry to get back here, and always so reluctant to leave?"

"A man enjoys sleeping in his own bed."

"Especially if that bed affords certain views, I'd imagine."

Jaqen scowled, knowing Galen had explored the house in his absence, perhaps even sitting on his bed. Then he noted the look on the Scot's face; that small, sly smile.

_No, he hadn't just explored; hadn't just sat on his bed. He'd opened the French doors to the gallery and stepped out, looking across the space to Arya's balcony. Had she been home then? Opened her own doors? Had she stepped out and stretched in her fencing whites as she often did after returning from practice? Or walked out after her shower to brush her wet hair in the shade thrown by the large oak tree near the back corner of her house? Or reclined on that wicker chaise with the gray and white striped cushion to read a book?_

"There is nothing here for you to do, Galen," he repeated.

"Oh, I think I can find ways to occupy myself." The handsome man tugged at his impeccable cuff as though it needed straightening. "Fencing, perhaps…"

"No."

"You were an adequate fencer, brother. Not at my skill level, to be sure, but you certainly understand the sport. You could've offered to be a training partner. Why have you never used that to your advantage?"

"I have not needed an advantage."

The Scottish assassin laughed. "Of all people, you were certainly never one to forgo an advantage. _Any_ advantage."

"Does Erich not have Syrio already claiming such an advantage?"

"Syrio isn't in a position to recover intelligence from Robert Baratheon, or Ned Stark. Or the mayor. Or the governor."

"And I've managed to obtain such intelligence for years without picking up foil." Jaqen finished his drink in one long swallow. "Besides, I do not think Syrio would appreciate any interference with his prize pupil."

"Yes. I see how well you are managing not to interfere…" There was laughter in the handsome man's tone.

Jaqen's expression was inscrutable but he had to stop himself from slamming his glass down on the coffee table. Instead, he leaned forward and placed it lightly there, forcing himself back into his relaxed posture afterwards.

"The children have nothing at all to do with their fathers' businesses," the German reasoned. "I would not expect you to know this. You've only just arrived. Erich comes in for a day or two then flies back to Berlin. But I have been here. I have watched and listened for years. As assets, the children are of limited benefit."

"Perhaps that was true when you first arrived. They were so young then. But now…" The Scot gave Jaqen a meaningful look. "You said yourself, Arya Stark is not underaged."

"An undergraduate studying physics and so tied up with training under Syrio she barely has time to get a coffee with friends. She has no interest in Stark Shipping and no connection to the Baratheon Petrochemical empire."

"You're meant to foster a connection, or had you forgotten?"

"Even if Baratheon and his son were to reconcile, he does not work for his father. He would know nothing."

"I disagree. Family say things to one another they would not say to others," Galen replied. "I realize you have no personal experience in this…"

_The barb did not sting as it was meant to. Jaqen's memory of his own father was so faded that he could not be sure it was even real, and his mother had not lived long enough to prove or disprove his colleague's assertion._

"This plan was folly from the start, as I told Erich. The girl will be here but a month, hardly time to repair a relationship between two men which has been sour for well over twenty years."

"Precisely why you should have explored every avenue."

"Every avenue?"

"The fencing, brother."

Jaqen sighed. "I did not wish to…" He gave a small, frustrated growl. "I did not think it right."

"Think what right?"

"To interfere. Shouldn't she have one thing, untainted by… all of this?"

Galen uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he studied Jaqen's face. Cruel lines formed around his mouth and eyes. He laughed a little, but there was no humor in it. "I don't recall you being so noble before."

"We have not spent much time together of late, you and me. There may be much you do not recall about me."

The Scot nodded. "Perhaps. Another good reason to stay. I may even come to appreciate this new-found nobility of yours. Fortunately, I'm not hampered by the same compunctions."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'll see to Syrio's little charge. She might like a new sparring partner."

"Galen, no."

"I thought you'd be pleased, brother. She's of no value to you, anyway. Isn't that right? _'Limited benefit'_ as an asset, I believe you said."

"Leave her be."

"No, it's the perfect solution. This way, you can do what you do so successfully, and I can see to Erich's wishes. Let's keep the Colonel happy, shall we? Win-win." The Scot leaned back into his seat, bestowing his dazzling smile upon his host. "Now, shall we have dinner? I'm famished."

* * *

His own dinner plans ruined, Jaqen managed to get a table at Justine for Galen and himself. He'd been loath to leave his house to eat, knowing it would be that much longer before he could contact Arya, but he certainly wasn't going to cook for the man. Besides, getting the Scottish assassin out of his hair and nearer the Bourbon Orleans (where he was using the corporate suite the Conclave kept always on reserve) was a greater priority. And so, to the French Quarter they went.

Finally back home ( _home—he grimaced to recall how Galen had used the word as a weapon_ ), he shed his clothes and walked into the large marble shower of the master bath. He needed to relax; to forget the madness of the day, if only for a few moments. As the hot water hit his neck, his shoulders, the tension began to bleed out of his muscles. Steam rose and he closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind.

Instead, it filled with _her._

Or, more precisely, with the memory of what had happened after they'd returned from their impromptu adventure which had begun with her arrival in town Friday night.

_She'd asked her question, wanting to know if he'd pretend none of it had happened, and her face was alight with a ghostly glow amid the gloom of night. He knew, logically, he knew it was the streetlamp casting its light on her, its electric beam parting the shadow to illuminate her eyes, her cheek, her lips. But to him, the light had seemed to come from within her. Just as it always did._

_She had always been the one bright spot in his dark world._

_The warmth that kept him from freezing to death._

_He was afraid, had always been afraid, that his darkness would overwhelm her light, killing the very thing in her he had always longed to preserve; to protect. He did not want her to be swallowed whole by his world, by him, and so he had fought to maintain the gulf between them. For her. And, for him, too, because he could not bear knowing he had suffocated the thing which made her… her. For it also sustained him._

_Even at a distance, it had sustained him._

_But that night, with the imposing façade of St. Louis Cathedral and Jackson Square as a backdrop, she'd insisted it would be alright; that he could have her without wounding her; that she could be his, be a part of his world, and still be herself. Unaltered. Undimmed. And he'd allowed himself to hope it was true. No, more than that. It was more than mere hope. He'd been convinced of the truth of it. She'd convinced him. Utterly. Completely._

_Because while he had always believed he could not have her, her light, he had also found it impossible to live without it; without her._

_And so, he'd allowed himself to be persuaded._

_And once he'd given in to the idea, to her persuasion, to her kiss, there was…_

_Rapture._

_It was rapture, and every thought, every breath, every particle of his being existed in it._

_And then she'd asked if he was going to pretend none of it had happened._

_As if he would._

_As if he ever could._

_And all he'd wanted was to touch her. Kiss her again. Be with her. Hold her. Have her._

_She'd come into his house willingly and he'd almost led her directly up the stairs and into the bedroom that looked out over her own. But he'd asked her about a drink, and he wished to be polite; attentive. He did not wish to appear presumptuous._

_He was going to kiss her again, but then she'd said something. A teasing little thing, really, but he wondered if it might mean more, if it might be a hint at her desires._

_She'd accused him of being bossy. He'd wondered if she wished for him to be; if she wanted a man who would take control in the bedroom. Many women did, and he would not object. It was his natural tendency anyway. But, then again, she might prefer to be the one in charge. Arya Stark was typically quiet, a thinking girl, one who spent more time observing and considering, interpreting and understanding, than she did directing. But that did not mean she was weak or shy. One had only to watch her in a tournament to see the truth of that. Perhaps she preferred to be in the bedroom as she was during competition: confident, intimidating, and absolutely in control._

_He could indulge that as well._

_And so, he'd asked her._

_'Does a girl like her men… bossy?'_

_He'd been prepared for any answer. Had she said yes, he would have told her to go upstairs to his bedroom and wait for him there. Had she said no, that she preferred to be the one in control, he would have begged her to tell him what she wanted of him, and then done anything she'd asked. Had she said she preferred her men sweet, he would have whispered the sweetest words she'd ever heard while gently caressing her cheek, and had she told him she liked her men aggressive, he would've snatched her to him and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her up the stairs like a caveman. Rough. Quiet. Wild. Gentle. Forceful. Worshipful. He was ready to give her whatever she desired and there was nothing she could say which would deter him._

_And because Arya Stark could never be typical in any way, she'd managed to find the one thing she could say which would cool his hot blood._

_'Does a girl like her men… bossy?'_

_'I don't know. I'm not really sure.'_

_Her words, her uncertainty, had shackled him in place as all his grand schemes and deep wants dissolved. And he vowed to wait until there was no uncertainty._

Jaqen dried off, scrubbing the towel roughly over his head before wrapping it around his waist. He stalked into his bedroom, images of Arya sleeping on his sofa as he threaded his fingers through her dark hair still fresh in his mind. She might've been asleep in his bed even now if Galen had not made his unexpected appearance.

And just like that, the tension gripped his neck and shoulders again.

_He really needed a smoke._

_Nur eine._

_Just one._

He found his cigarettes, digging them out of the drawer where he'd shoved them. It had been a long time since he'd had one. Months. Nearly a year. Since before she left for school. He found a lighter, too, and pulled on a pair of loose-fitting athletic shorts. Grabbing his phone, the one he knew wasn't tracked, he walked out of his bedroom onto the gallery, sitting in the shadows and glancing across to Arya's balcony. Her light was still on.

_Good._

After lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag, Jaqen opened a text window and sent her his apology. He hoped she would agree to reschedule for the next night. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

_LG: As long as you promise to explain what all that was_

He sighed, then took another drag and texted back.

_I promise to tell you what I can. Tomorrow evening?_

He could still do the redfish. She'd like that—Arya had always enjoyed spicy things.

_LG: Can't tomorrow. Sorry. Plans._

Plans? What plans? She'd only just arrived home. It couldn't be training. She usually started so early, she should be long done by dinner time. Then he recalled that he'd had to leave her party very early and there were at least a hundred people there who likely had some claim on her time. She might've made arrangements with any one of them.

_The Baratheon boy? No, that didn't seem likely. She'd been too keen to avoid him lately, much as that would chagrin Erich. He supposed it could be family, but wouldn't she simply have said so?_

Jaqen was surprised by how much it bothered him. He answered her.

_I'm insanely jealous. Plans with whom?_

He watched the gray, dancing dots on his screen as she composed her reply. When it came across, he cursed.

_LG: I promise to tell you what I can. Tuesday evening?_

The cheek! She'd used his own words against him. He flicked the ash from the tip of his cigarette, glaring hard at her balcony which remained empty. He did not like to delay their meeting, especially after Galen's talk of his own lack of _compunctions_ earlier. He needed speak with her and there were things he could not say over the phone. He had to see her. Jaqen set his jaw, sending her a flurry of texts moments later. He tried chastisement, and guilt, and jealousy, and indifference, but none of it worked, so he had no choice but to give in and agree with Tuesday.

Sighing, he typed out his next text.

_Goodnight, lovely girl_

He pushed the button on his phone which made the screen go dark and leaned against the metal backrest of the wrought iron bench on which he sat. After a moment, he saw that Arya's balcony door opened. She walked out wearing a plain white slip of some sort. _Is that what you sleep in, lovely girl?_ It had narrow shoulder straps and reached mid-thigh. The way it moved made it seem as though it must be thin cotton, or linen, perhaps. It didn't have the slink or cling of a silkier fabric.

_It was mesmerizing, watching that movement; watching her movement._

The girl glided to the railing and placed her hands on it, bracing herself as she stared toward his bedroom. He wondered if she could see him in the dark. Did she know he was there, staring back at her?

Jaqen placed his cigarette between his lips, drawing in the smoke slowly, causing the glow at its tip to gradually increase until it seemed to catch her attention.

"Goodnight," she called softly across to him.

After she'd turned and walked back inside, closing her door and turning off her light, he stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed against his temples slowly with his thumbs as he thought.

_She would surely spend most of her day training. Then, home to clean up before embarking on whatever these plans of hers were. She should be safe enough. Tuesday should be much the same, only after she came home to clean up, her plans would be with him. And then Tuesday evening, they'd talk. He'd explain what he could and make her understand the caution that was required; make her understand who she could trust, and who she could not._

_He only hoped the Scottish assassin was too busy to bother with her before then_.

He rose and stretched, then went inside. The cigarette had bestowed upon him a calm, as had working through the timeline until he would speak with Arya again. Despite his insistence earlier that there was nothing here for Galen to do, their conversation at Justine had proven the German wrong. It seemed the Colonel did have a few matters to which he needed the Scot to attend, things only peripherally related to Jaqen's own mission. It seemed likely Galen would be much occupied over the next few days. Thinking on that gave Jaqen a sense of comfort.

_He should've known better._

* * *

Jaqen rose early the next morning, dressing in a suit and tie and driving his BMW into the Central Business District, or the CBD, as the locals called it. It was a workday, and his morning routine was part of his cover. Lawyers worked long hours and dressed the part.

_So, too, did spies._

_Which was why his office at Weber SIP had a locked closet filled with tactical gear, various workmen's uniforms, dark clothing, and weapons._

It had just started to rain lightly when he'd pulled out of his drive but by the time he made it to the office, it was pouring. _Typical Louisiana summer thunderstorm—they blew up quickly and died off nearly as quickly._ Fortunately, he had access to covered parking. The German pulled into in the multi-level garage attached to the high rise which officially housed the law firm's New Orleans branch, then took the elevator to the thirty-ninth floor. He nodded to Sofie as he passed her desk on the way into his office.

"Guten morgen, Herr H'ghar," she greeted. To anyone else, she would look like the picture of a receptionist at a law firm—well dressed with a professional and courteous tone, efficient and serious. Jaqen supposed she served some of the same purposes as a receptionist, too, but Sofie Meyer was a comms expert. She answered phones and directed calls, yes, but it was who the calls came from and where and how she directed them which marked her as different from a typical receptionist.

Of course, no one seeing Sofie in her modest cream blouse and navy pinstriped pencil skirt with her shiny blonde hair pinned back in a French twist would ever suspect she spoke seven languages and boasted some fairly advanced computer hacking skills.

Jaqen walked through his office door, setting his briefcase on his desk and loosening his tie as he moved toward the windows. He occupied a corner office, so he had windows on both the north and east-facing walls, affording him views of the French Quarter and the Mississippi River, though this morning those views were obscured by the rain. Had his office existed across the building, he would have looked toward Uptown rather than the Quarter, but even with that view, and even without the rain, he would not have been able to see far enough to note a silver Jaguar pulling into the Stark driveway just then, nor to see Arya Stark exit that same vehicle after she'd spoken animatedly with a certain Scottish assassin.

* * *

Jaqen was home before Arya left her parents' house for her evening engagement.

_Whatever it was, it required cocktail attire, apparently._

He watched her as he sat at the desk in the library. He'd been perusing the files he'd brought from the office on a flash drive, scrolling through documents on his laptop, scanning for key words. He'd happened to look up as she descended the porch steps, as though he couldn't help but sense when she was near. Arya's own eyes were down, and she was rifling through a silver clutch. It complimented the one-shouldered navy sheath she wore with silver stilettos. Her hair was pulled back into a simple, low chignon and she looked…

_Radiant._

The German's phone was resting on the desk next to his laptop. He quickly opened the texting app and typed a message, sending it mere seconds later.

_You are far too beautiful._

Something caught the girl's attention and she paused, her fingers on the doorhandle of her Audi. Jaqen could see her reach into her bag and pull her phone out. She stared at the screen a moment, then smiled and looked up, catching his gaze through the window. He stood, leaning over the desk and bracing himself against it with extended arms as he watched her. Arya ducked her head shyly, then got into her car and drove away as he watched.

After a moment, he returned to his work, looking for the information the Conclave required, seeking to prove he could find it without using the girl as an unwitting trap for Robert Baratheon's estranged son.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when the text came across Jaqen's phone. He was reclining against the pillows in his bed, reading, as was his habit before sleeping, but he heard his phone vibrate against the bedside table and picked it up. When he flipped it over, he saw the text was from Arya.

_LG: Let me in_

His brow furrowed, but he laid his book aside and slid out of his bed, walking barefoot to the hallway and then downstairs. He could see her through the glass pane of his door, standing there on his porch, still dressed in her fancy evening wear. She looked up, her eyes meeting his through the slightly warped and bubbled glass that was original to this old home. As their gazes locked, Jaqen stopped and stood still, watching her for a few seconds, waiting there for him with one shoulder bare and her hair swept away from her neck. When she shifted her balance from one foot to another, he moved again, twisting the lock and opening the door.

"Arya Stark," he said softly, leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed over the part of his chest where his white t-shirt was stretched tightest. He also wore a pair of gray knit sleep pants slung low on his hips and he could see her eyes wander to the strip of skin below his navel that was bared when he assumed his current posture. He smirked, then offered her a reminder. "You have a key."

"I…" Arya looked up at him with her wide, silver eyes and swallowed. "Yesterday, I just walked in, and it wasn't you I found waiting."

Something in his chest tightened as she spoke the words. "It's only me here now," he murmured gently.

"Are you going to invite me in?" Her voice was a little hoarse, as though she'd used it too much.

Jaqen smiled. "Are you a vampire, that you require an invitation?" he teased, stepping aside and tilting his head away from her to indicate she was welcome to enter.

"I just got home," she said, stepping over the threshold. "I thought I'd stop in and say goodnight."

"And did a lovely girl have a lovely time?" he asked lightly, shutting the door behind her and leaning back against it to watch her as she walked past him.

_Some tendrils had worked loose from her knot and swayed as she walked, brushing her shoulders and her back. He longed to wrap one around his finger._

"It was… interesting." Arya turned, crossing one leg in front of the other as she stood in the middle of his foyer, her eyes taking in his attire even as his eyes roamed hers. "You weren't sleeping, were you?"

"Would a girl care?"

She bit back her smile at his response. "No, you weren't sleeping. You're far too lucid for someone jerked from slumber by a rude text."

"I did not find it rude."

"No?"

"No. I am always happy to hear from you."

"Good." She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, dropping her eyes for a moment. She seemed suddenly uncertain.

"What is it, Arya?"

She blinked and then looked up at him. There was a crease between her eyebrows he did not understand. Pushing away from the door, Jaqen moved in her direction. When he reached her, he smiled down at her and traced her mouth with one finger before tugging her crimson-stained lip from between her teeth.

"Komm, schönes Mädchen." Jaqen slid his hand down her arm until his fingers twined with hers and he pulled her into the library. He bade her sit on the sofa, which she did, and he considered taking the chair Galen had occupied earlier, catty corner to her, but found he wanted to be nearer than that. He settled in next to her, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to her palm before holding it against the scruff on his cheek. _He would shave in the morning._ "What is it?"

The girl's smile was soft. "It's been… a strange day."

"You can tell me."

"I… really just wanted to see you. Just for a moment. I don't mean to keep you up."

"Arya…"

The girl blew out a breath. Jaqen grasped the end of one of her tendrils as he'd imagined earlier, wrapping it around his finger loosely, staring at her exposed collarbone while he waited.

"Should I start with this morning, or do you just want to hear about the dinner party?"

_So, her prior engagement was a dinner party? Interesting for a girl who'd only just returned to town, he thought. But he might've guessed, considering her attire._

"Is it not always best to start at the beginning?" he asked, trailing the fingers of one hand downward along the side of her neck until they came to that exposed collarbone. Jaqen traced the landmark, wishing he could place a kiss there, but he did not want to distract her.

"Right. Well, this morning, I went running along St. Charles, to Audubon Park…"

"As a girl so often does."

_It was true. When she was home, she ran that route at least four times per week, but usually it was a daily habit, barring torrential rain._

"When I was in the park, as I was finishing my second loop and getting ready to cool down, I ran into Galen."

Jaqen's fingers froze midway along the length of her collarbone. "You saw Galen," he repeated, not quite believing. To clarify, he said, " _Galen Abernathy._ "

"Yes."

_His heart squeezed painfully in his chest, but he hoped this was somehow a misunderstanding. Or a joke._

"The same man you were speaking to in this room yesterday. _That's_ who you saw in the park?"

_Bitte sagen Sie Nein._

_Please say no._

_In his head, he begged her in two languages._

"Yes."

_Motherfucker._

The German's hands found her shoulders and he squeezed them for emphasis. His voice, he kept low and calm. "Lovely girl, you must tell me everything. Every detail."

She sighed. "There's honestly not much to tell. He was perfectly cordial. Friendly, even."

"Friendly." Jaqen's laugh was bitter. _Friendly the way a pit viper is friendly._ "Arya, Galen is no friend."

"I know."

"I need for you to understand. This man is dangerous."

"I know."

"You do not know, Arya!"

"Jaqen, I do. I know."

Something about the way she whispered the words struck the German. He looked into her eyes then, noting they were wide and unblinking. She almost seemed… _frightened._ And he found that frightened him even more.

"How?" His throat felt dry as he asked. "How do you know? Did he say something? Did he… do something?"

"No, it wasn't like that. I mean, he didn't say anything that couldn't have been explained away as a joke. But it's there."

"It's there?"

"The danger. It's there. In his eyes. In his grip. When he watches me, it… feels like a threat. So, yes, I know, Jaqen."

The German leaned back, momentarily stunned, his mouth opened slightly. But then, he remembered who he was talking to, and it suddenly made sense.

_How could he doubt that she would understand? How could he believe she would not know? This was Arya Stark, and Arya Stark just looked at a man, and she knew._

"Tell me, Arya. I must know details."

_How else could he work out Galen's aim?_

_And how else could he shield her from that aim?_

"I was running. I actually almost ran into him. I was… a little lost in thought, I guess, not paying attention, and then there he was, right in front of me. I was so surprised, I stumbled and started to fall…"

Jaqen looked at her with concern. "Were you hurt?"

She shook her head. "He caught me, otherwise I would probably have lost some skin on the pavement, and maybe hit my head." She folded her hands in her lap and frowned. "He's very good."

_There was nothing 'good' about Galen, unless you counted how good he was at slaughtering anyone who got in his way. In that instance, the Scot was a true master._

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, _I_ ran into _him._ He wasn't tailing me. He even accused me of following him. As a joke." Arya's eyes drifted to the coffee table, but they were unfocused, not really seeing it. "I suppose that was meant to make me feel comfortable. His teasing…"

"And did you? Feel comfortable, I mean."

The girl scoffed and she looked back at Jaqen. "I've never been a fan of rom-coms. And this was the perfect rom-com meet-cute. It had my hackles up because it was _too_ perfect."

"Meet-cute?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "You know, those cheesy, contrived scenes where the leads in a romantic comedy meet in some adorable way that makes it obvious they're destined for one another?"

"Ah." _He hardly thought an elite assassin who had more kills than years of life stalking an eighteen-year-old girl would qualify as a 'meet-cute', perfect or otherwise._

"Yeah, so the 'chance' meeting, the rescue from injury, the witty banter…"

"Witty ban…"

"…and the over-the-top flirting…"

" _Flirting!_ "

"…was just overkill."

He closed his eyes a moment and breathed, praying that Arya's uncanny intuition was not the thing that placed an even larger target on her back, and praying that she never had cause to witness Galen's true version of 'overkill'.

"Lovely girl," Jaqen said after a moment, taking her small hand and clasping it between both of his, "please, tell me what you said. And what he said. As exactly as you can remember it."

"Don't worry. I didn't say anything about you. Or… us."

"That is not what worries me…"

_Well, it wasn't all that worried him._

"The weather. Running. The park. New Orleans… He said this was his first trip here, asked what he should see, that sort of thing."

_All innocent enough. But then, when Galen was involved, there was really no such thing as innocence._

"That was all?"

"Well, he asked me about fencing, like everyone does. He fences. Did you know that?" She laughed a little. "Of course, he does. He's like James Mason in _The Prisoner of Zenda._ "

"I do not understand the reference."

"I just mean he's the perfect Hollywood golden-age villain. The fencing? And he's all handsome and mannered and English…"

_Arya thought Galen handsome?_

Jaqen frowned. "He is not English."

"What?"

"He's Scottish."

"But… his accent…"

The German's look was one of pure disdain. "Wealth affords much privilege."

"Having an English accent is a privilege?" Confusion marred the girl's expression.

"No, but being sent to a top boarding school in England at an early age is. As is an Oxford education. Somewhere along the way, he managed to make his origins somewhat less obvious, if they ever were. His mother is English, after all. It's his father who has the Scottish heritage. And the money."

"He said he fenced at Oxford."

"Yes, I'm sure he did," the German snorted. _Galen never missed an opportunity to mention Oxford, knowing that Jaqen's own education had been accomplished in somewhat less exclusive society._

"We talked about that for a good while. Fencing, I mean."

"How long is 'a good while'?"

"The walk to his car, and then the whole ride home. But that's a quick drive…"

" _The ride home?_ " Jaqen could feel his temple begin to throb.

"It had started to sprinkle a little, and by the time we'd walked to his car, the rain had really picked up. He insisted."

"I thought you said you understood how dangerous this man is," the German growled.

"I do. That's why when he suggested sparring with me…"

"When he _what?_ "

"…I said yes."

" _You said WHAT?"_ In an instant, Jaqen's hands were on his face, pressing hard before he dragged his fingers down until they met in a steeple at his chin. He'd managed to change his face by then, from incredulous and enraged to settled and serious. He stared at her, his blue eyes piercing her gray. " _Mein Gott,_ Arya, why on Earth would you think that was okay?"

"Haven't you ever heard the adage about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?"

_Was she… could she be serious?_

"You do not want to make an enemy of this man, lovely girl."

"I didn't make him an enemy. I made him a training partner."

" _Scheiße!"_ he spat, rising suddenly. He paced to the picture window. " _Scheiße! Scheiße! Scheiße!_ " Jaqen turned, scrunching his eyes shut and grimacing as though he had a sudden headache.

"This is good," she insisted. "To know where he is, what he's doing… to be able to control what he knows. You can tell me what I should say and what I shouldn't…"

The German barked a laugh and shook his head. He placed his hands on his hips, looking down at the floor, thinking, searching for a solution to this debacle.

"Don't be mad at me," the girl said, standing and crossing the room. She stopped just in front of him.

_He wasn't angry with her. He was fucking terrified for her. But he did not wish to say that, to scare her more than was necessary. The damage had already been done and telling her exactly how bad this all was would not be helpful._

He sighed and gathered her to him, wrapping her in his arms and dropping his nose into her hair. "Oh, Arya…"

 _Du wirst mein Tod sein_. Those were the words he'd said to her after they'd kissed, really kissed, in the French Quarter. _You will be the death of me._ But that wasn't true. He saw it now. She would not be the death of him.

He would be the death of her.

* * *

 ** _Wicked Game—_** Matthew Mayfield

(The original version of this song—the Chris Isaak version—is an old favorite of mine. It's beautiful and sexy and pretty perfect for Jaqen and Arya in general. However, I listened to the Matthew Mayfield cover while envisioning Jaqen's POV here and it's even *more* perfect for this particular one-shot, I think. The tempo is slower, and it's got a sinister/mournful tone that really captures that underlying sense of dread Jaqen has about what is happening in this piece. It's like having the sense that following a certain path will only lead to pain but being unable to deviate from that path despite having the knowledge to save yourself. Aside from that, the cover has a fantastic lyric change in the chorus. The original says "this world is only gonna break your heart" but the cover changes it to "this girl is only gonna break your heart.")


End file.
